


Treehouse

by Vanyel



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: But I hope you enjoy, Minecraft, and this technically follows what happened, based on what happened to me, because i needed to cope with losing so much work, being that this is minecraft, the warnings don't quite apply as much as they do normally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyel/pseuds/Vanyel
Kudos: 2





	Treehouse

Finally. Everything was prepared.  
Steve took his axe to the fence posts, one by one, picking up the pieces and tucking them away for later. The gate itself was last, pulled out and set aside. He wiped his brow, looking over the sheep in their pen.  
Or what had once been, at least.  
"You're free, fellas." A soft chuckle to himself, watching the sheep blink at him opaquely. "The Sheep Pit is officially disbanded."  
One of them walked close, nudging him with its face, and he laughed again. A soft pat to the side, and he hopped back up, out of the hole.   
"Go on now, get. You're all free. Even you, Hanna."  
The cow, Hanna, made a short little moo at him, turning and stepping up the grass behind her. Without those fenceposts in the way, all of the sheep, as well as Hanna herself, were free to go. Even if some of them didn't realize it yet.

Steve turned to the birch shack that had served him so well this past...month? Maybe more, maybe less - time got hard to tell. Especially when down in the depths of the earth, mining out everything.  
The axe came up.  
Piece by piece, he took down the little mine shack. The corners fell away, then off the slabs of the roof. Sure, he didn't _need_ to take apart his old place before moving somewhere new, but it felt right. Leaving the land back to nature.  
And, if anyone happened to stumble across this place, well. They could consider themselves lucky finding a premade staircase all the way down to a mineshaft. He'd left plenty behind down there - even one of those little holes from which the cave spiders crawled out of, all lit up. It kept them scared inside the hole, but if someone else wanted to come along and make a little cave spider farm...  
Well. Steve didn't know why anyone would _want_ a cave spider farm - little buggers were fast, mean, and poisonous to boot - but they could make one. It was all cleared of cobwebs, too - took the better parts of three swords to get them all cleared out.  
He took all the pieces of the shack, setting them inside the second chest. The larger one. He'd already filled the small one to the brim - that was how much he knew that he could carry. After so long here, planning, gathering...it wasn't half of what he had. But it was all he could take with him.  
Steve took out a few of the small oak saplings from the smaller chest. These grew everywhere, and were the dominant tree here in the swamp. Steve had cut down plenty of oak trees to make the chests, the tools, the shacks when he ran low on birch. The landscape around him was fairly open to the air right now - not as it had been when he came.  
Slowly, he scattered the saplings around the little hill he had called home. Planting each one in the dirt, tamping it down softly, watering it from the bucket. Nature would do the rest, and soon this hill would be unrecognizable as the flat and boring little place it was right now. A shame, Steve thought to himself, that we so often break down the beauty of the wilds to try and live among it.  
  
Steve hopped down the short hill to the little sleeping alcove he'd made. Had almost forgotten to make one of those after getting enough sheep and iron to pull a bed together. One night hovering in the mining shack, listening to the screech of the phantoms swooping around his door, had reminded him right quick. It hadn't even had a door on it, but it was enough to make those terrifying things go away. Nightmarish visions, as bad as the other things that were already out here.  
He took the axe to this as well, though he kept the bed intact, tucking it away. That would come with him. Steve didn't know how long his journey would be - distance or time. It could be a good few days, and the only way to stop those flying nightmares from coming back was that cozy little bed right there. So, with him it came, shoved into the chest somewhere between the saplings and the lapis lazuli.   
Two shacks and an animal pen down. Only one more small creation to go.  
The farm was as humble as it was functional - a three-wide short staircase leading down to the patch of wheat growing at the edge of the lake. Steve threshed it all, even those that weren't quite finished yet - he had room for seeds in the chest, to replant and continue to grow once he'd moved. The sugar cane was next. Only a few patches of it, but they had grown, giving more. That was how these worked, after all. Growth, and growth, and growth. But so little room to grow here.  
Not for much longer.  
Steve paused on the staircase, turning back to look at the small patch of now-barren farmland. It was the only hint of his presence this far down, besides the torches scattered across the ground to keep the undead at bay. He shifted the bundle of wheat in his hands, and stepped back down.  
Smoothing out the farmland with his feet took time, but when he was finished, it was back to a simple square of dirt on the lake's edge. Soon, grass would spread to it anew, and leave not a single trace it had ever been touched. Satisfied, Steve carried his load back to the chests, reorganizing one last time.

So much he couldn't take with him. He stared at the contents of the smaller chest, debating everything. He needed the chests for when he got to his new home, yes - and the saplings, to grow trees for both the wood for his home, and the area around it. A collection of wood and torches. Coal, to make more torches, to light up the land. Lapis, gold, iron, redstone, his precious few diamonds - all the precious things he'd mined down from his spiral staircase, though had to come with him. His tools, of iron and of stone and his lone diamond pickaxe. The seeds he'd planted, and those he'd found in the mineshaft - sugar cane, wheat, melons, pumpkins, beetroot. Who knew whether he'd have the opportunity to build another Sheep Pit?  
But then came the hard part. Few spaces left in what he could carry, and so much left. Steve picked up the granite, quietly shifting it to the other chest and grabbing the birch planks. It had taken him so long to gather them before coming even to this part of the swamp - he might as well carry a little piece of that first home with himself, further into the world.  
A few more changes, a pause, and Steve nodded to himself.  
"That's everything. Can't take any more - I hope this is all I'll need once I get there." He turned to his other chest, the last remnant of his time here.  
He raised the axe, bringing it down. _Chnnk. Chnnk. Chnnk._ The wood croaked, and groaned, and gave way, splintering the chest and spilling its contents all across the freshly-replaced grass over the hidden staircase. Steve stared at it all, running a hand along the inside of his golden helmet. A tip of the hat, as it were, to the collection he'd made.  
To the collection he would have to leave behind.  
Hoisting the chest full of everything onto his back, he turned away from the pile, away from the remnants of the Sheep Pit, away from the lake. Steve gazed out across the swamps, setting his sights on the furthest thing he could see.  
And started walking.

\------

The plains stretched on for miles. Steve had to pull out the bed, finding it strangely easy to sleep in the open air of the fields after such a long walk - his eyes refused to stay open a moment longer than they had to. Perhaps it was the reassuring neighing of the horses around him. They would be the first thing to spook at the sight of the undead, giving him plenty of warning. He was a light sleeper, after everything he'd gone through.  
Still, morning soon came, and Steve packed everything up once more. He fed one of his scarce apples to the horse nearest him, smiling as it overcame its shyness in favor of the treat. One hand ran gently across its muzzle.   
Looking back, he could just barely make out the place where the water turned from blue to green. That was all that he could see of the place that had been his base.  
He trudged onward across the plains, soft grass turned to knee-high mud with the coming rains. Life bloomed around him - the grass, the flowers of colors that didn't grow in the swamps, the noises of farm animals let back into the wild. Steve hummed softly to himself as he walked, thinking.  
He'd dreamed of the day ever since he set out from home. And closer and closer it was coming.  
  
The saplings shifted in his pack, and Steve tilted them against the water, just to keep them a little more fresh. He needed them to still be alive by the time he got where he was going.  
Truly he didn't, but carrying the pieces of the acacia wood from the savannah near his old home was nostalgic at this point. Birch, oak, acacia- who knew if any of them would be where he would end up? Better to make sure that he could choose what to build with, when the time came.  
A small lake stretched before him. Steve set everything down, sitting on the side of the softly sloping mountain to catch his breath. The rain plinked softly off of his helmet, a rather rhythmic drumming that he was learning to drown out at this point. He rifled through his bag, looking at what food he had left.  
Only a few chops of mutton, cooked through to last the journey. It started to look like that wouldn't be a worry - Steve pulled the slab of meat out, trying not to think about how little was left. If he ran out of food before he found...  
No. There were always trees, and there could be apples. And if worst came to worst, there was the plains, filled with life. A quick campfire and a sharpened axe would solve his problems.  
But Steve didn't want to disturb the land he passed through any more than was absolutely necessary. There was something about trying to stay in tune with it all, leaving nature to its power and prowess.   
And yet, he noted to himself with a mouthful of mutton, nature did provide meat, and make it a good source of food. He could hardly be blamed for listening.

\----

It had only taken him a few hours to row across the lake, in the end - the rain had obscured how small it truly was. Another quick nap out under the stars, and Steve was off across the small portion of the plains left. He could see the mountains rising in the distance - and, in front of and on top of them, his goal.  
A forest. A spruce forest, at that - his choice to bring the oak saplings had paid off after all. Almost all the woods known on this side of the world, at his disposal for building.  
Well. He'd have to be sparing with the birch, for not bringing any saplings, but that was a minor oversight at this point.  
Steve picked up the pace for the final few miles, feeling the air around him beginning to cool. The mountaintop was peaked with snow, and the trees didn't escape the soft, white dusting either. He smiled to himself at the sight. Perfect.  
He crossed the boundary of the forest, trees instantly growing thick around him. The cover and soft shadow, after the days of open plains, felt like a cool blanket across his heated skin. Steve stooped over to pick a flower from the ground - a poppy - and stilled at the sound of tiny footsteps nearby. He held himself, watching the fox skitter halfway across his path, turning and twisting through the thick foliage.  
A moment's thought, and Steve set after it, quieting the heavy step of his iron boots as much as he could. Wildlife knew where food and water was, and he could do with the former in abundance right now. It wouldn't do to scare the fox - spindly little thing, squeaking to itself as it paused, then set off again. Steve trailed behind it, staying just out of sight.  
And there!

The berry bushes were vibrant, bright red standing out against the green of the landscape quite well. The little fox nibbled at the low "branches" of one, taking the red treats for itself, and Steve thanked the fox in his head. An animal of that size that would eat from these bushes meant they were safe - not poisonous, as so many plants risked being to those who couldn't tell them apart.  
He waited for the fox to take its fill before stepping out. Instantly, it squeaked again, dashing off away from him. The edge of its white tail darted through the trees, quickly out of sight.  
"No need to worry, little friend," Steve called after it, smiling to himself. The berries were perfect after the last of his mutton had gone down the hatch during the crossing of the lake. He picked them slowly, careful to avoid the thorns that threatened at every turn.  
Already, the forest provided. He chewed slowly, staring back up through the canopy towards the mountaintop. What else would it have for him?

\-----

Even before setting out to find his place in the world, Steve had known how he wanted to live.  
A treehouse.  
Arching over a forest, gazing out across the landscape, worked into the natural surroundings. It had been a fantasy at first, but Steve had honed his craft, working with wood and stone and leaves in small doses back in his home. As long as he had the materials, and the time, he could make just about anything.  
And he wanted to make a treehouse.  
It had taken him a long time to find a forest. Yes, he could have built one in the swamp - but it wouldn't have been the same. A single tree, surrounded by smaller ones, just didn't give the same feeling as the kind of clusters formed in the forest. He could have planted them by hand, but the oak trees rarely grew tall outside of the forests, and there was hardly a landscape to look out over - his Sheep Pit had been lovely enough, but something about the canopy that nature made just spoke to him.  
A spruce forest was perfect. The trees grew close, foliage thick enough that he had to cut his way through it just to get to the mountainside. It was even better than Steve had hoped - building the treehouse atop the mountain would let him see for miles, and miles - probably back out to the lake he'd crossed on the way here. A simple river through the forest could get him the water he needed close by, berry bushes would give him food until he could get the wheat he'd brought with him to grow, and everything else he needed was in his pack. The saplings of the oak and the acacia would grow, and give off saplings of their own, and give Steve all the wood he needed to make his dream come true.  
The cliff face loomed before him, and Steve just smiled to himself, turning back to the nearest tree. A deep breath, a hop, and he grabbed the low branches, hoisting himself up through the leaf cover. Clambering up and down trees had been his favorite hobby - perhaps that was where the drive came from. In no time at all, he stood near the edge of the tree, as far out as he dared with his weight on the branch. Steve gauged the distance to the rocks of a little alcove halfway up the cliffside.  
He could make it. He _would_ make it. He didn't come this far just to fall now.  
Steve jumped off the branch, trying not to hear it cracking behind him as he tumbled onto the rocks. His boots took most of the fall, and his back the rest, rolling across the space until he came to a stop. Staring at the open sky, Steve allowed himself to breathe again.  
On his way.  
\----  
He was giddy.  
Steve had climbed his way up the mountainside, treating himself to berries and a quick nap before heading onwards. Even the grass felt different under his feet as he stood under the massive spruce tree, gazing up into the canopy.  
A canopy that would soon serve as the greatest floor he'd ever built. Or, well, built around.  
He took his axe in hand with far more care, turning to the tree behind him. Steve didn't want to damage the tree that would make up his house - it needed to be strong, and sturdy, and perfect. But getting up there without rope or ladder would be difficult on its own.  
Good thing this was the forest, and right behind it was another spruce tree, almost as tall.   
The blade of the axe made quick divots in the wood with just a few swings, going almost shallow and fast. Each _thunk_ made Steve swing a little bit faster, the anticipation building. He made the low ones a little deeper, lifting up to stand in them and make a few more cuts, just over his current reach.  
The handholds were soon finished, and he started his way up the tree, moving from his cuts to the branches, making more holds when he needed to. The sunlight filtered through the thick canopy around him, casting shadows across his work in the light of mid-afternoon. He moved quickly, but with care - a tumble from this height would hurt a lot, and he was only a quarter of the way up.  
Only halfway up.  
Just over two-thirds there.  
Almost there.

Steve pulled himself onto the uppermost branches, his golden helmet breaking through the leaves and gleaming in the late afternoon light. He looked around himself, admiring the view from up here and catching sight of his goal tree.  
It would be a simple few steps - from the highest branches of this tree onto the lower ones of the final burst of the other - but Steve felt himself shaking slightly. So much work, to this moment.  
And to the moments that would follow.  
He closed his eyes, taking the moment to clear his head. It was alright. He'd done this kind of thing so many times. Even if the ends of the branches were thin. Even if he would likely have to make a leap for it. It was going to be alright.

Steve kept his eyes closed as he leapt, arms outstretched to catch himself in case he fell.  
But he didn't. He tumbled into a canopy of leaves thick enough to catch himself against, the branches creaking but managing to hold. Twigs scratched at his face and arms.  
Slowly, he pulled his head back out of the leaves, brushing them away before letting his eyes open. He hummed a short victory tune to himself, letting his breath come back.  
And then he began to climb once more.

Finally.  
Steve sat on top of the dense leaves, staring out across the forest like it was the first time he was seeing one. Certainly it was the first time he'd seen one from so high up - trees that he knew had to be the size of golems barely registered as anything more than a thick and leafy stick at this angle. The first rays of sunset streaked the world with tinges of orange, and it brought out the edge of blue in the spruce leaves.   
It was beautiful.  
"Shame I'm going to have to get down from here to sleep," he said quietly, letting the thoughts ring in the air. It was almost too good of a view. There wouldn't be nearly such a view from the forest floor, even knowing that this was what awaited him.  
But he knew that such a thick forest would be a haven for the undead after night fell. Steve looked through the leaves at the grassy soil, thinking to himself. He patted the leaves he was sitting on softly. Things really did grow close together in the forest - the branches of this tree weren't bending under his weight in the slightest, even this far up towards the sky. It held him and his pack like there was no trouble.  
If it held them all like this...

Steve moved with extreme care, putting the pieces of the traveling bed back together and keeping an eye on the ground. Even now, as the sun slowly disappeared, he could hear the rattling bones of a skeleton wandering around somewhere in the forest below himself. The poor souls of those who died before him. Perhaps even trying to make the same dream come true - now, they were cursed to roam in the darkness, and be burnt at the touch of the sun.  
At least the skeletons simply rattled. The zombies were worse. Always groaning, and the children-  
No. Not the time to think on that. Today was a day of triumph, Steve reminded himself, testing the weight of the bed. The leaves held with only the slightest bit of give even as he sat on the edge of it.  
A soft whistle. They really must be strong trees. This would make a perfect tree for a home. Such incredible luck.  
He tucked everything away into his pack, tying it to the leg of the bed, and climbed under the thin wool blanket. Staring up at the moon, Steve almost didn't want to sleep - the anticipation of the end of his journey and the beginning of the building could have kept him running around all night. But it wasn't safe to build with the undead out, and he wasn't quite sure if he'd gotten rid of the phantoms in his head once and for all. Better to not take any chances.  
Steve drifted off, thinking of how he'd begin his home in the morning. Oak for the flooring? Or maybe the touch of birch?

\------

 _PAIN._ Pain is what woke Steve - a dully piercing pain in his leg. He had hardly noticed himself falling asleep, sitting bolt upright-  
A low groan met his ears before the sight met his eyes.   
A zombie. One of the shamblers of the failed, the dead, pulled back to life when the sun was hidden from the sky. It had its teeth sunken into his leg, pulling him out from under the covers.  
With a cry, Steve kicked out one foot, landing a solid blow to the side of the zombie's head, and scrabbled backwards to his feet. His leg ached, and his mind raced.  
 _How? They can't climb trees! And it's morning - it should be dead by now!  
_

And then he saw it. The pieces of decayed and fallen grey-green flesh on the edges of the mountainside, the trail. That led right to an easy place to fall onto the smaller tree Steve had climbed up. A fall that would have seriously incapacitated anyone foolish enough to take it.  
But a zombie could be a fool - and especially this one, it seemed. The zombie of an adventurer, it had to be - clad in golden armor shimmering with the touch of magic, saved from the burning touch of the sun by a simple leather helmet. If the sun could not burn through its head, it could not stop it.  
And as if taking that small hope and dashing it, the sky was dark, and a roll of thunder rumbled. Rain poured around them, drenching Steve to his skin as he stumbled back across the branches, trying not to slip off the edge. The zombie pulled itself tall, chin tilted up, and made a sound more akin to a howl. A flash of lightning illuminated the world, striking the top of the mountain and casting them both in shadow.

It charged towards him, swiping just where he'd been standing. Steve screeched, fumbling with his pack. There was no room to organize, no time to search, and his hand couldn't seem to find any of his tools or weapons. Desperate, he closed his grip around the nearest object to it, pulling whatever it was free and flailing it towards the zombie.  
The zombie paused for the briefest moment, its eyes shifting along with Steve's as they both stared. The leaves of the sapling in Steve's hand splayed against the leather helmet looked almost pitiful. So many things to grab, and that was what he got?  
Steve barely had time to regret his misfortune. The zombie lunged again, ignoring the tickle of wood, and this time greying fingers found purchase on his shirt collar. It lifted him off the branch with no effort despite the lack of muscles. Steve kicked and struggled, but it was useless - the thing would not let go, groaning again with a flare of lightning in the background.  
His heart sank, and he started begging.  
"Please, please, don't do this!" He knew far too well that the beast couldn't understand him, but animal fear overtook rationale. "Please! I'll give you anything - please - I was so _close-_ "

The zombie pulled him close, chomping on the edge of Steve's shoulder, and he cut himself off with a scream. It tore through skin and flesh, pulling back and sending pain coursing through Steve. He stared in horror at the bloodied sight of its face, and the look of undead malice in its eyes. It groaned, a piece of flesh dropping out of its mouth, forgotten.  
And then, it flung him aside like a ragdoll off of the tree.

\---

Time froze. Steve almost felt himself hovering in the air, almost saw the raindrops hovering suspended around himself.  
The flash of lightning.  
The zombie, standing on the leaves, mouth half-open in the end of its groan.

 _This is it._ The words came to his head through fog, his own thoughts seeming slowed down. _This is the end.  
_ His eyes didn't move, and yet Steve focused on the pack in his hand. The contents had jostled it open when the zombie threw him, and were spilling out of the bag. They were frozen in a tableau of sapling and lapis, of axe and flower, cast in shadow by the flaring light.   
_All that time. All that effort. Everything I worked towards, gone, just like that.  
It falls with me. Fitting, in a way.   
I should have held my axe at the ready. I should have dug a hole in the ground and slept in that. I should have cut off the branches behind me.  
I should have done so much.   
Why?_

He didn't have an answer for himself. All he had was the view.  
Saplings, carried so far from their home, that would never be planted.  
Steve noticed the raindrops slowly soaking into his skin, and realized that whatever had slowed time down was letting him go. The air around him was cold, and dark, and moving up through the crack in his golden helmet with a subtle whooshing noise. The zombie's arms began to lower.  
And then it snapped back.  
Steve tumbled through the air, mouth open to scream. He had just enough time for one last thought.  
 _Oh, this is gon-  
_

\---

Steve awoke with a pounding headache, leaning against the wooden wall of the entry into the Wilds. Everything was fuzzy and tinged with grey at the edges of his vision, though that slowly cleared as he blinked. He rubbed his forehead, letting his hand run through his hair.  
How had he fallen asleep? On such an important day, in such an important place, he'd drifted off?  
Footsteps outside of the nearby wall told him that another adventurer had come and gone - or perhaps that was one of the mysterious patrons that brought would-be wanderers to where they needed to be. That was their words, anyways.  
Pulling himself off the wall, Steve stretched, cracking his neck both ways to try and psyche himself back up. It was his day, to head out and find a place to truly call his own. His first steps of adventure.  
He could hardly wait.

And so he set out, down the broken pathway, into the wild and the unknown.  
As he crossed the boundary of the entry and stepped onto the plains, Steve had the slightest bit of hesitation in his heart, as there is when a person is sure that something monumental has been lost, without being able to remember what it was.  
But that feeling, too, was quickly forgotten. There was a world to be seen, a life to be lived.

Maybe he'd make a treehouse. Steve always wanted to make one of those.


End file.
